TW: Domestic Violence
He used to flinch whenever I came near him in the kitchen.
If I reached for anything within a foot of him, he would immediately move his whole body unusually far away.
Like he was avoiding a blast radius or had a hula hoop hidden somewhere that he wanted to toss in the gap.
I tried to invite him closer since this seemed so odd. Nothing changed.
After we left the kitchen it was always as though nothing happened.
It wasn’t the stale silence of pretending either, there was nothing wrong at all.
Over time I tested several theories about why this happened but none of them rang true.
At first I thought I had accidentally done something to upset him.
This seemed overly cautious and also reaching for the salt isn’t usually a war declaration. He isn’t easily upset either.
Then I wondered if maybe he didn’t like sharing his personal bubble in the kitchen and wanted the room to himself.
Or maybe I was distracting him.
So I decided to let him go first in there, then I would do whatever I planned afterwards. We often made separate food anyway so I figured maybe he would be happier.
This theory proved false after he noticed and wondered out loud why I didn’t join him in the kitchen.
So I went back to making food together and worked around it.
Sometimes when he moved clear of me, I would openly announce he wasn’t in my way and then let the topic drop.
This weird dance went on for years until one day after I reached for a loaf of bread on the counter next to him, he quit cooking entirely, bolted a good 10 feet away and stood completely still, watching me.
Like he had accidentally wandered onto the stage during my solo performance when he should have been waiting in the wings.
I worried this meant there was something bad about me and he was voting with his feet.
The hot burn of upset bloomed in my chest.
Without thinking, I stopped and went over to where he was standing, facing him.
“Why do you do that?” I asked with real curiosity, attempting to put aside my bruised feelings.
“What? I’m getting out of your way,” he replied in a defiant tone verging on anger.
“No, you weren’t in my way. I want to know why, really.”
I tilted my head and waited.
Suddenly he looked boyish, like a small child struggling to keep a secret.
He shifted his weight back and forth. His eyes darted around, then he settled into a faraway stare; glassy, vacant. No eye contact.
“She used to hit me in the kitchen. If I was in her way at all, she would freak out and that was it…”
His voice sounded like it might crack and trailed off.
Oh. His ex wife. The vicious one.
“I will never hit you,” I said flatly.
He did not always seem to like affection during upset but I took an emotional risk and I put my hands gently on his upper arms. This turned into a long, silent hug. Something changed.
We made dinner.
He never bolted again.
